Monday, November 16, 2009
This weekend, Mr. Wonderful and I headed to the Santa Ynez valley in Central California for a lovely stint of wine tasting. Some might call such a getaway hoity toity. My nine-year-old niece once made fun of us for going to a wine class, pantomime-reading a “class book” saying, “Ooohh how interesting—you DRINK it.” But we find great joy in the whole swirl, sniff and sip experience.
As I helped Mr. W carry his things down to my already loaded car, he told me not to look in his gym bag.
I know what you’re thinking. That inside the bag, there was a little black velvet box.
Well, there was a boxy black item in there, yes. But it was Mr. W’s Nespresso machine. He actually packed the whole thing (with a zip-lock of free-trade raw sugar) so he could enjoy coffee the way HE likes to drink it.
I believe he had a shot before we went for a morning jog Saturday. And perhaps another before we headed to the top-rated restaurant Root 246 for dinner.
I’m not sure when I had my oh-my-god-we’re-such-yuppies moment, but it suddenly seemed to me that when you added everything up, we were walking stereotypes. Then again, I’m not sure that true yuppies do all the stuff we do…
Like when we were trying to take a self portrait on this beautiful country road and I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open in the bright sun, and Mr. W said, “Tardball, stop making that blinky face.” I must have laughed about 42 more times throughout the afternoon over that one. “Tardball.” Yuppies don’t talk like that.
And I don’t think they crack up about farts when they’re jogging.
Nor do they show off their mad female burping skills at 10 a.m. while drinking Dr. Pepper instead of coffee.
And they most certainly don’t buy gummy worms and melon rings at the gas station then stick the two together in an obscene way before chuckling and eating them.
So even though we ARE young, urban professional, double income, no kids kinda people, I think we’re still relatively down to earth. Especially if the earth has wine grapes growing out of it.